


we somehow do learn to live

by ofamaranthlie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rough Sex, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:31:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofamaranthlie/pseuds/ofamaranthlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Michael asks for help grooming his wings, Lucifer can't say no, especially if it ends in sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we somehow do learn to live

**Author's Note:**

> I received a prompt on my Tumblr asking for Michifer wing grooming that leads to something more. This is my take on it. Title taken from "Vanity" by Yuki Kajiura.

When they first moved into their apartment, Michael and Lucifer made a point of avoiding each other if it could be helped. They finally had personal space, a luxury that the Cage did not provide, and they intended to make the most of it by seeking solace in the silence of their individual rooms. As the days and weeks trickled by, the time they spent outside of their rooms increased, and thus so did their contact with each other. What started as short, clipped exchanges in various rooms, usually when one was about to leave the apartment for the day, evolved into lengthier meetings with more substance. They did simple things together, such as spending dinner at the rickety table that Lucifer picked up who knows where, or arguing on the lumpy sofa over world politics as the newscasters droned on about the latest international conflict. Such simple, little interactions that would appear shallow to a stranger's eye, but for two brothers with hundreds of years of bitterness and anger comprising the foundation of their new, fragile companionship, it was the little moments that counted. 

But the little moments not only counted; they _mattered_. Though their grumbling words and leers hinted that they only begrudgingly put up with the other's company, their meetings were not born solely from coincidence, not any more. Although neither archangel would acknowledge it, they came to live by a simple, unspoken rule: they would make time to see each other at least once a day.

So when a whole day nearly passed without seeing each other, Lucifer emerged from his room and prowled across the apartment to Michael’s bedroom. Michael had the door cracked, which meant that Lucifer could enter if he so desired without interrupting Michael’s precious brooding time. But as the light that dripped through was dim, Lucifer risked waking a sleeping Michael, which was the equivalent of waking a bear from hibernation. He opened the door wider with one slow push of his fingertips.

Michael was in bed, though far from asleep. Naked aside from a pair of tight-fitting black briefs, he sat on the bed with his back facing Lucifer, his six wings taking up half of the small room as he curled them around his body so he could reach the ends. His fingers combed through the long remige feathers with an artistic intensity that Michael retained even on Earth. Michael’s dexterous hands awed Lucifer as a fledgling, and even now, he remained mesmerized by each twist of the wrist and glide of the palm down those fiery feathers. Lucifer found himself torn between watching those graceful, precise movements of Michael’s fingers and the way that his back muscles flexed as his wings shifted. 

Lucifer did not announce his presence, as it was not a secret in the first place. He could not sneak up on Michael even if he wanted to; he could thank the Cage for that, the way it made them so in tune to each other whether they liked it or not. Michael had to know Lucifer stood and watched him groom, but since he issued no growling command to leave, Lucifer did not budge, content to enjoy the show.

Once Michael fixed the tips of one wing, he turned to send Lucifer a look over his shoulder. Their eyes met in a challenge neither would back down from nor break. “Having fun?”

Michael’s fingers never stopped moving, strumming his feathers like a harp. It took all of Lucifer’s concentration to not look away from Michael in favor of those talented fingers. His lips twitched. “Yes.”

With a huff, Michael turned away first, but Lucifer felt like it was still a defeat on his end. Michael rolled one wing back, pressing it back toward Lucifer in a come-hither curl.

“You could make yourself useful and help,” Michael said.

Had it not been worded as a command, Lucifer would have agreed without a fuss. But of course, that’s now how things worked for them anymore. 

“But you’re doing so well on your own,” Lucifer said, which was a lie, as the back of Michael’s wings were in a state of total disarray, an angel’s own version of having bedhead. 

Michael thrust his wing hard enough to knock the door, which tapped against Lucifer’s side. “Either help or get out.”

Withdrawing his wing back to his side, Michael returned to his grooming, carefully untangling and smoothing the soft plumes beneath the contour feathers. Lucifer lingered in the doorway, lips thinning in consideration. Since they arrived top-side, Lucifer could count the number of times Michael asked for help with grooming on one hand. They could pretend it was a chore all they wanted, and the way Lucifer narrowed his eyes certainly made it seem so, but ignoring a fact did not make it any less true. It was a rare, significant offer, and Lucifer couldn’t say no.

So he padded across the old, beige carpet to Michael’s bedside. Michael’s wings turned further to the side, providing a space for Lucifer on the bed. Kneeling on the mattress behind Michael, Lucifer lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips down the top right wing in a light, cautious caress. Michael responded in kind, his fingers jolting from the pleasant shock of the touch before returning to their familiar rhythm. With a faint smirk, Lucifer went to work.

Despite how infrequently they groomed each other, Lucifer never forgot the steps to this particular dance. Running his fingers through those illustrious feathers was like tracing a map home, like walking in a memory. Michael had been the one to teach him to groom (and do everything else, really), and Lucifer spent countless hours learning Michael’s wings and the way he liked to be touched. Hell could not erase that bit of knowledge, and he employed his expertise without holding back.

Lucifer knew Michael’s wings like his own because he knew Michael. He knew the spots that proved to be most troublesome, and he separated the tangled mats one at a time, so as to lessen the pain. He knew the areas that were most sensitive, and he shamelessly massaged his fingers in the little nooks until he felt Michael shudder beneath his touch. A few more rubs and a light twist to a down feather and Michael’s fingers stilled as he gasped, head lolling back an inch. Lucifer allowed himself a tiny, ghost of a smile as he smoothed the fluffy feathers, intent on causing Michael to make those soft, breathless sounds over and over. And so he continued to rove his fingers across the bundle of down feathers, applying pressure to the sensitive skin beneath it until Michael gave a quiet sigh of satisfaction.

When he worked through most of the contour feathers on the top, Lucifer’s fingers raked down to the base of the wing. Michael’s wing quivered beneath the touch, but from what Lucifer could tell, Michael was doing a damn good job of appearing pokerfaced through the session, aside from the stray sound here and there. When they were young, naïve little children in heaven, they used to giggle and coo all through the grooming, wide smiles on both their faces. Lucifer was not able to remember the last time he’s heard Michael laugh. But then, he couldn’t remember when he last laughed, either.

Combing through the shorter feathers near the base of the wing, Lucifer took a chance and put pressure on the base. Michael’s hands froze, and ah, Lucifer smirked, that’s what he was looking for. Nimble fingers kneaded the base, the pressure increasing as he felt Michael become lax, his hands dropping to his sides as his head dropped just a fraction. Keeping one hand petting the area where the wing met Michael’s skin, Lucifer lifted his other hand back to a lower wing on Michael’s left side, raking through those feathers in slow, soft strokes. Michael gave another breathy sound as he shifted on the bed, seemingly torn between wanting to lean into Lucifer and tearing away from the pleasure.

But when Lucifer raked his nails across the base of the wing, Michael’s composure crumbled. He barely choked back a groan, and the guttural, needy sound went straight to Lucifer’s groin like a jolt of electricity. Relentless, Lucifer kept alternating between using his nails and fingers to rearrange the feathers and tease the skin beneath, keeping his movements slow and teasing. Michael reacted in kind, body barely able to conceal a shudder as he bowed his head as if in prayer. Emboldened by the responses, Lucifer leaned in closer to his brother, his lips brushing against the back of Michael’s neck in time with a soft tug of a few feathers.

“Lucifer,” Michael warned, the threat lessened by the strain to his voice. Lucifer just hummed in response, remaining close as he continued caressing the feathers in the slow-fast rhythm he built.

When he clawed down the base of the right wing, Michael hissed from the pain-pleasure and leaned back into Lucifer, eyes shut tight as he tipped his head back. The change in position allowed Lucifer a lovely glimpse of Michael’s front, and his eyes trailed down the well-defined muscles of his chest and stomach with a touch of hunger, which only intensified when he saw the erection that tented Michael’s too-tight underwear. Lucifer’s tongue flicked across his dry lips as his cock twitched with interest. There was no way Michael could deny enjoying this now.

Something within Lucifer snapped at the sight. Spurred on by that image, Lucifer abandoned all pretenses of gentleness. He gripped Michael’s feathers by the handful, tugging them until Michael gasped and tried to pull away. But Lucifer didn’t allow that, didn’t relent as his eyes fell shut, losing himself to touch and sound alone. He buried his hands in those lush, soft feathers, scratching the skin with his nails as he nuzzled into the back of Michael’s neck, teeth scraping across the warm flesh. Frenzied desire replaced his earlier precision, fingers moving every which way as they dove in the masses of feathers, needing to feel as much of his big brother as he could beneath his hands. Michael must have felt the same, for he didn’t snap at him to stop or to go away, but instead arched into the touches like a cat in heat.

“ _Luce_.” 

Michael said his name like a prayer, or perhaps a curse, and although Lucifer abandoned the concept of prayer centuries ago, it was the sweetest sound he’d heard in a long time. Lucifer breathed a quiet ‘yes’ on Michael’s neck in return, his stubble-covered cheek rubbing across the skin as he nosed up to tongue the shell of Michael’s ear. A warm palm cupped his cheek, and Lucifer opened his eyes to see Michael reaching back for him, and even with his head half-turned, the desire in the older angel’s eyes could be seen like a beacon in the dark. Stunned and impossibly aroused from the heat in Michael’s eyes, Lucifer did not fight when Michael guided Lucifer’s face closer until their lips met in a hard kiss.

The over-the-shoulder angle denied the kiss of any finesse, but Lucifer reveled in the sloppy heat of it, the way Michael blindly reached up to fist Lucifer’s hair and hold him still while he ravaged his little brother’s mouth with a sinfully skilled tongue. Each time Lucifer tried to pull back for air, Michael would force their lips together again with a clack of their teeth, and Lucifer could only groan into Michael’s mouth as his brother took control of the kisses, setting a fierce pace that Lucifer met head-on. He tore into Michael’s wings, tangling the feathers he worked so hard to fix in an effort to goad Michael more. And oh, Michael took the bait. He bit down on Lucifer’s lips hard enough to draw blood as he forced Lucifer’s head back by the hand in his hair, and Lucifer could only smile into the bloody kiss and hold on for the ride.

Each bite, each tantalizing sound shared between kiss-swollen lips went right to Lucifer’s aching cock, and gods, he needed so much more than just kissing. He abandoned Michael’s wings in favor of clawing at his back, a violent, wordless message of desire. He needed to touch, needed to wrap his body around Michael’s until he couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. Michael showed mercy, releasing Lucifer’s hair and drawing back from the kisses long enough to grab Lucifer’s forearm and drag him toward Michael’s front.

“Come here,” he said in a breathless growl.

Lucifer complied, shuffling over on shaking limbs as Michael drew him onto his lap, resting his hands on his younger brother’s hips to steady him. Face-to-face at last, Lucifer wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders and drank in the sight of his flushed expression and how he looked up at Lucifer from beneath his dark lashes as if he wanted to swallow Lucifer whole. Heat pooled in his stomach, a wave of desire rolling through his system as he captured Michael’s lips in another rough kiss, unable to face that intoxicating expression any longer. Lucifer felt Michael groan more than heard it, a low vibration that rumbled through his body and shook him to his core. Michael’s hands on his hips gripped tight enough to bruise, sending delicious surges of pain through his system.

Michael pushed back from the kiss long enough to tug at Lucifer’s shirt, and Lucifer helped him strip off the suffocating article of clothing. He tossed it over his shoulder toward a corner of Michael’s room and surged forward, leaning in to kiss the disapproving frown off Michael’s face with a chuckle. He choked on the sound as their bare skin touched at last, slick with a light sheen of sweat. It had been such a long time since their last intimate affair that he nearly forgot how good Michael felt pressed against him, close enough to feel his heart thump against his skin. It had become an addiction, touching Michael, be it tender pets to his wings or beating his face in with his fists during one of their countless fights. And when Michael curled a hand around Lucifer’s throat, squeezing it just so as they kissed, Lucifer could have purred, dizzy from the restricted air.

They broke apart with strangled gasps, their lips nearly touching as they reached for each other again, Michael caressing down Lucifer’s sides and resting on his hips again while Lucifer ran his hands over Michael’s shoulders and collar bone, nails digging into the skin until Michael grunted from the sharp pain. With a pleased sound, Lucifer rolled his hips down against Michael’s in a slow rut, his breath quickening with each brush of their clothed cocks together. With a low keen, Michael propped himself up with one hand behind him on the bed, the other digging into Lucifer’s right hip as he rocked against his brother. Unable to maintain the slow speed out of need for more, rough friction, Lucifer pushed against Michael with growing need, hips snapping without rhythm as he sought his pleasure. The hand on his hip skimmed up his side and onto his chest, pulling a tender nipple until he hissed. Michael wore a wicked smirk.

“You want to fuck, little brother? Want to ride me until you scream?” Michael asked, and just the thought of holding Michael down and riding him hard was enough to make Lucifer breathe a hungry sound. But still, he shook his head.

“Later. Want to come first,” Lucifer said, punctuating his words with hard, purposeful thrusts of his hips.

Michael gave a faint nod and wasted no time in nudging Lucifer off of his lap so he could hook his thumbs in his briefs. Lucifer’s mouth went dry as Michael dragged his underwear down his tan legs, revealing his thick, heavy cock that dripped precome onto his toned stomach. Tossing his briefs off the bed, Michael leaned farther back on the bed, hips lifting in invitation as he peered up at Lucifer with hungry eyes and an arched brow. Needing no further prompting, Lucifer made quick work of his pants and underwear, which joined the shirt in some corner of the bedroom as he tossed them to the side, never breaking the heady eye contact with his sprawled-out brother. And when Michael tipped his head back just an inch, a teasing enticement, the remaining shreds of Lucifer’s self-control vanished and he _pounced_.

Michael caught him in his arms, their limbs tangling together as Lucifer pressed his whole body against Michael’s, muffling a sigh into Michael’s neck at the suffocating heat and pleasure. Wrapping his arms around Lucifer’s back, Michael rolled them over to their side so they laid face-to-face, legs intertwined and hands scratching across skin, marking each other with jagged, red lines. Burying a hand in Michael’s wing again, Lucifer tugged the feathers _hard_ as he mouthed along Michael’s jaw, reveling in the little breathy sounds Michael made when he nipped the sensitive skin there. His biting kisses faltered as he felt Michael’s nails claws across his back, digging in as deep as he could while he reached down with his free hand, skimming his fingers across Lucifer’s stomach and down his hip in a soft counterpoint to the painful grazing on his back. 

When the hand traveled lower to thumb the head of his cock, nail pressing into the leaking slit, Lucifer bit down on Michael’s neck as he groaned from the pleasure-pain, hips rocking up to chase the delicious feeling. Michael must have been in a giving mood, as he allowed Lucifer to thrust against his palm while he frantically covered Michael’s neck in pretty bruises he would wear like a necklace in the days to come. Holding onto Michael’s wing for leverage, Lucifer wrapped his other hand around Michael’s cock, smiling at the choked gasp Michael gave in return. Michael gripped Lucifer’s cock in a tight hold, and together, they moved. 

They fucked like they fought: fast and merciless, no signs of tenderness in the rough, hard strokes upon each other, and honestly, sometimes Lucifer did not know which of the two he preferred more. Eyes closing, he bit back a keen at the tight, slick warmth of Michael’s hand and the way he knew just how he liked to be jacked off, with a hard grip and mixture of fast and slower tugs. He could hear Michael panting, warm breath tickling his ear as Lucifer jerked Michael faster, twisting his wrist on the upstroke until Michael moaned, husky and full. Michael shifted his posture so he could move his hand from Lucifer’s back to his neck, squeezing the pulse point until Lucifer choked, head swimming.

When Michael released the pressure, Lucifer nuzzled up to Michael’s ear, whispering a slew of whatever filthy things came to his mind: how good Michael felt in his hand, how he wanted to pin those strong hands down and ride Michael until they couldn’t even remember their own names, how he wanted to mark up his brother with teeth and nails so Michael would remember this for days, remember who he always belonged to. Michael only groaned a low ‘yes’ in response as his hand faltered, a sign of his impending orgasm. Lucifer clutched Michael’s wing harder and ripped out one of those pretty red feathers with two fingers. Michael trembled with a growl, the hand on Lucifer’s neck sliding into his hair, yanking hard until Lucifer could only hiss. He could feel his orgasm build, the combined pleasure and pain making the heal pool and his toes start to curl. So close, but not there yet, needing more.

“Shit Michael, faster. So close, faster, faster, big brother,” Lucifer murmured, placing emphasis on the last two words, knowing how it drove Michael crazy to be reminded of their relationship in the middle of sex.

Sure enough, Michael growled out something unintelligible and jerked faster, the room filled with the lewd sound of flesh sliding against flesh. Lucifer reached his climax first, thick, white ropes gushing over their hands and cocks as he groaned against his brother’s sweaty, bruised neck. The come acted as a lubricant, and it only took a few quick, wet strokes for Michael to come with a shuddering moan, and that sinful sound alone almost made Lucifer want to go for round two right now.

They spent a minute just breathing against each other, Michael nosing along Lucifer’s head as Lucifer gave Michael’s neck lazy little kitten licks, lapping at the salty taste. When their breathing regulated, Lucifer pushed away from Michael and onto his back, wiping his soiled hands on Michael’s bed. Michael scowled.

“Asshole,” he grouched, shoving Lucifer’s arm. Lucifer rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, nonplussed.

They did not spend the night with each other after sex, not usually. But Lucifer settled into Michael’s bed with no intention of leaving it just yet. He could feel Michael’s gaze upon him, but he kept his eyes on the ceiling. There was a ruffle of feathers to his side, and then a sigh.

“You messed up the feathers again,” Michael said.

Lucifer hummed. “Let me fix them then.”

Silence followed, and Lucifer turned to face Michael with a raised bow. Michael stared at Lucifer through narrowed eyes, as if waiting for the punch line of the joke. But when it did not come, Michael just nodded and settled onto his side on the bed, his back facing Lucifer. Lucifer turned to face the outstretched wings, surveying the tangled, messy feathers with a touch of pride. He worked his fingers through the feathers in gentle strokes, undoing the damage done during sex.

The soft grooming combined with the afterglow of a good orgasm lulled Lucifer into relaxation, his eyelids growing heavy as he worked the feathers slower and slower. He could hear Michael’s breathing even out, quiet and steady.

If they fell asleep like that, spooned together with Lucifer’s hand on Michael’s wing, well, no one had to know.


End file.
